


Go the Spoils

by deHavilland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode: s05e04 The End, Infidelity, Light Bondage, M/M, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deHavilland/pseuds/deHavilland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This Dean thinks Castiel is his. The other Dean proves him wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go the Spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadflowers5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadflowers5/gifts).



> co-written with [9-of-clubs](http://9-of-clubs.livejournal.com). She signed on to beta and stayed for an awful lot more than that.

Dean’s fists slam violently, angrily into the door frame, bracing himself against it, every muscle in his body tense, jaw ticking under the strain. He inhales sharply through gritted teeth before storming violently into the room. 

Castiel looks up, startled by the sudden noise and the former angel’s eyes darken as they take in Dean’s sudden appearance. The hunter doesn’t wait for him to slowly pull himself up from where he’s lying curled on the mattress before he’s immediately in his face. 

“With him, huh?” Dean’s already unclipping his thigh holster, tossing it to the side with no regard for where it lands or even whether the safety on the gun’s turned on. He stops, only inches from Castiel, drawing himself to emphasize the difference of inches between their heights. 

“With you,” Castiel remedies, completely open. There’s no hiding anything here, not from Dean and Dean damn well knows it. Castiel doesn’t even have the good graces to feel suitably guilty about sleeping with someone else. Whether that someone else is him or not. “Really, Dean,” he continues, eyes unusually bright, “If you continue with the possessiveness, I might start to think – ”

Dean ignores him, the words nothing more than an irritating buzz in his ears to add to the same violent ringing that’s been pounding through his head since he initially noticed Dean – the other Dean, that is, himself. Younger himself – leaving the cottage only an hour or so ago. 

Trust Castiel, this Castiel... his Castiel, to fucking cheat on him. 

He leans in, pinning Castiel forward, one arm slung around the former angel’s waist. He flips him onto his stomach, pinning him to the mattress with his own body as his fingers slide underneath him to pull at the button of his loose-fitting jeans, slipping it through the buttonhole deftly, moving on to jerk the zipper downwards. 

Castiel doesn’t resist, and Dean recognizes that for consent. That’s always been Castiel’s way. God forbid he ever ask Dean for it, even back then when he’d felt conflicted about the dubiousness of the whole thing. Cas doesn’t ask for it and now, Dean doesn’t ask him. But it’s an unspoken agreement that they’re definitely in agreement on. 

Beneath him, Castiel’s eyes are closed, allowing himself to be manhandled around, but he’s smiling, enjoying the roughness, the sensation of touch that he’s always found a thrill-seeker’s adrenaline from. Go a couple millennia without being touched by anyone and a simply hand on your shoulder seems like a million bucks. 

Dean assumes, anyway. But he doesn’t get much of a chance to fully think that thought through before the world is swimming, everything going blurry and tilting several degrees to the right. Which is when the pain sets in. Oh, yes – struck in the head by something. 

His own gun, he realizes, turning to see his attacker as he falls forward onto the bed, arms giving out as his brain struggles to keep up with a possible concussion from being pistol-whipped. 

Moments later, the world reorients itself enough for Dean to begin struggling against his attacker – himself, oddly enough. As if it wasn’t weird enough to have to deal with the sudden appearance of his own doppelganger from the past arriving in the compound, to have to deal with that same asshole knotting his looped wrists tightly to the headboard – fuck. 

He jerks and drags against the rope as much as he’s able, but the knots hold and he hadn’t really expected them not to. He’s learned a lot in the past couple of years of post-apocalyptic dystopia, but that’s the kind of thing he knew about long before the croates ever posed a threat. And damn, he’s fucking good at tying shit up. 

“The fuck is your problem, dude?” That’s him – the other him – looking Castiel over for injury, while the former angel simply laughs at the attention. Dean – the other Dean – has a lot to learn.

“He’s not the same Castiel, dumbass.”

He gets a raised eyebrow in response and Dean is sliding even closer to Castiel, fingers reaching out to draw him in. 

His double turns his head to look at him, lips still on the angel’s skin.

“Come on,” He wants to turn his head away, but he can’t quite seem to as his other leans up to kiss Castiel again, the fallen angel’s eyes are shut and he’s gone suddenly rigid. It takes a minute for the thought that maybe, maybe, it’s because Dean, he, is actually kissing him gently for once. 

It rings of memories he doesn’t want to think about. 

But Dean isn’t stopping, leans away briefly to press a kiss to Castiel’s temple and turn his head, with a slight smile and to ask. “I’m sure you remember.” And then their lips are touching again, gently, just a brush of lips, no matter how he sees Cas move to try and deepen it. 

Dean’s fingers are moving not too, brushing under Castiel’s shirt, moving up skin. He can’t see exactly what they’re doing, the fabric of the other’s ratty shirt covering the touches, but he can hear the tiny gasps Cas makes in response. He hasn’t heard those sounds in a long while, hasn’t heard anything but groans and growls and the occasional yell. It makes something inside him squirm. Look away, close his eyes, he should, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re me.” He wishes he could shut himself up, stop the words. “You’re me, so you can’t not know how this goes.” 

Green eyes tear themselves away from Castiel and meet his own, but the other’s fingers are still moving, doing whatever it is they’re doing to make Castiel make those sounds. “Tell me you don’t?” There’s a challenge in his other’s face. But he doesn’t meet it, finds his own words stuck suddenly in his throat, and Dean just shakes his head and turns his attention back to Castiel. 

The angel’s shirt is divested first, carefully and Dean’s hands run long lines down the skinny body, curving over the planes of his chest and down to his stomach, stopping every so often to circle a scar that could not have been before, or a bruise that blooms too dark on his skin. And Castiel lets him, lies back, doesn’t ask for drugs, doesn’t talk about the women he’s slept with, just lies there and lets himself be touched. He can’t help the sudden surge of want that rushes through him. A half sound, something longing, a word, he doesn’t even know what it was going to be, tries to escape his throat but he pushes it down midway. He knows Dean heard him though, by the way his back stiffens, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing to address him this time, only leans over to replace his hands with his mouth and suck kisses into the span of Castiel’s body. 

“Please.” Castiel is whimpering now, twitching under the touch, but it’s desire that colors his words, and something purer, something that speaks of ties and trench coats, not blood and drugs. “Please, Dean.” 

But Dean only shakes his head, keeps up the slow undoing, places kisses to all the spots Dean knows Castiel likes, the hollow of his neck, just below his ear, on his lips again, until Castiel is quivering. Something possessive rushes through him. 

“Dean.” The word comes out this time, but the other still ignores him, ignores that he wants this, wants it now, that suddenly, watching him do this to Castiel has made every bit of him long for the touches again, if only for a minute. “Please, “ He tries to keep his voice from shaking. “Please let me.” 

And at the same time Castiel is shaking with the same need. “Please.” He’s begging for something again, and neither of them quite know what they’re asking for. But finally his double nods, though it takes another whisper from Castiel to convince him. Dean moves aside, pulling Castiel up and pushing the other towards where he’s bound.

“No sex tonight.” His voice, from a stranger’s lips, is firm.

And then Castiel is reaching for him, coaxing his face forward and Dean moans a little into the kiss, into Cas. He wants it, wants this. The way it used to be. A kiss that isn’t stolen, isn’t forced. 

He knows this is at least partly his fault. That yeah, the words fallen apart and that he’s hurt Cas just as much as Cas has hurt him. He’s not so far gone as to not recognize that fact. He shifts his head more fully towards the former angel, towards the gentleness and the chapped lips that he hadn’t really realized he’d been missing. 

When Castiel has had enough and draws back, Dean grunts as his hands and wrists are jostled, relaxing only when the coarse rope is finally removed, allowing his arms to fall back to his sides. Beyond that, he doesn’t have the energy. And if that means spending the night in bed with a junkie ex-angel and, well, himself.

Guess he’d better get comfortable.


End file.
